


This Was Ours

by JafndaegurDreki



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Bilbo makes many friends, Dwobbit, Elves, Erebor life, F/M, Forbidden Love, Great Eagle skinchanger, King Under the Mountain, Lullabies, Queen Under the Mountain, Reminiscing, bagginshield, elf competition for Legolas, fem!Bilbo, look dwarves and elves are friends, serenades, sometimes life throws lemons, why would she fall for the king?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JafndaegurDreki/pseuds/JafndaegurDreki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellissima Baggins has been in mourning for over a year. Despite the cruelties from the Battle of the Five Armies, she still loves the stubborn Dwarf King Under the Mountain; especially since she can never forget his words of apology before his passing.<br/>But what if Thorin Oakenshield wasn't dead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The News of a King

The sun was setting, its rays gently kissing the hills of the Shire. The many hobbit holes that were scattered about felt the pleasant caress of the warm rays. One hobbit hole in particular felt all of the setting sun's affection. This quaint little home was safely tucked underneath a larger hill than the others. It was adorned in a brightly painted teal door, several circular windows, and a healthy splotching of flowers and vines.

This was Bag End.

Inside this comfy little home is the unlikely hero of our story. She is about as heroic as a daisy. But she proved her true value in many a skirmish, nonetheless.

This Bellissima Baggins was indeed the very same burglar of the once-was company led by Thorin Oakenshield over a year ago. The luck wearer, barrel rider, and, of course, thief of the expedition to regain the Dwarf kingdom of Erebor. The very-same hobbit-girl who had been betrothed to the would-be king under the Mountain. All this, however, had been before the tragedy that had shaken Belissima's life.

Thorin had died in the Battle of the Five Armies, thus their plans of marriage were put to an abrupt end. With a broken heart, and a grief-filled soul, Bellissima had taken her share of treasure and said good-bye to her familiar Dwarf companions. They had offered her a safe haven in the Mountain—that cursed Mountain—but she had refused. How could she live in the Mountain that mercilessly claimed the life of the one she loved? With a heavy heart, she traveled back home carrying the burden of her lament and treasure.

Which brings us back to the current time in the hobbit home of Bag End.

Bellissima Baggins was curled up in her favorite arm chair, a book on her lap. Gentle tawny curls cascaded down the side of her face, peacefully falling onto her shoulders. Thin wispy bangs were pulled to the side, hanging over soft hazel eyes that were trained on the manuscript in front of her. A small fist propped up her rounded chin, leaving the other hand free to turn the page. She wore an olive waistcoat and a simple white blouse—which was tucked into a dark brown skirt that ended around her mid-calves. She was not a petite hobbit, but neither was she fat as some of the others.

Her free hand reached up and began to twirl a small piece of her hair that wasn't curled. It was a braided tight chain that hung next to her ear, framing that side of her face. The bottom of the plait where it had been tied off was decorated with three simple beads of bronze. Each one bore a symbol. One for the name of her betrothed, one for her own title, and one with the name of Thorin's kingdom. It was a Dwarvish Marriage braid that she sported; instead of rings, Dwarves braided the hair of their beloveds'. To the Dwarves, it made the proposal far more intimate and personal. And Bellissima still wore hers to remind any annoyingly persistent suitor that she was taken until the day she died.

Her hand fell from the plait to the page of the book. She turned it, enjoying the crinkling sound of the parchment. With a close to melancholy sigh, Bellissima scanned the words.

_The young lady was not ordinary, oh no. She did not want to be a lady-in-waiting; that was not the life for her. She knew that a girl could truly be a warrior if she wanted it hard enough. Her friends all laughed at her silly notion, but she did not give up. Instead, she trained in secret. She was preparing to slay the kingdom's long-hated bane: the dragon. So, with the bravery of a hundred men, she rode out to slay the demon reptile._

Bellissima turned her away, screwing her eyes shut and brow creasing. She hadn't realized reading this story would reopen old wounds she had buried a year ago. With a pained sigh, she closed the book, opened her eyes and got up. How naïve the human girl in the story was—killing a dragon is easier said than done. She couldn't help a certain memory worm its way to the forefront of her mind.

_"She looks more like a grocer than a burglar." A Dwarf prince had quipped, before their journey had begun._

_When they began to talk about the actual journey, she began to panic._

_"That would be Smaug the Terrible." One of the Dwarves had jeered playfully. "Think furnace with wings."_

_And for a time, that had scared her so much that she had fainted—only to be caught by the same raven haired prince who had made some biting remarks earlier._

Bellissima grunted, moving towards the kitchen.

"Dragons are no joke," she muttered to herself, for the story had put her in an ill mood.

Going to her cupboards, she found a small plate and cup. She decided she was not going to bed any time soon, so she settled for a nice little snack and a cup of tea to calm her nerves. Next she found a small copper kettle and filled it up with water. She placed it on the stove top to boil. Once that was done, she went to her spices and pulled out a few mint leaves. With a grin on her face, she plopped the leaves into the slowly boiling water.

Now was the hard part: waiting. Exhaling, Bellissima walked over to her table and sat down. Using her arm, she propped her head with it; her cheek rested on the palm. With her other hand, her fingers drummed on the wood impatiently. She hated having to wait for her food to cook.

_All the other Dwarves had gone off to the river to wash, so she stayed behind to keep an eye on their cooking supper. She constantly lifted the lid on the cast iron pot to see if the stew had been ready. But she would set it back down with a frustrated huff._

_She squeaked out as a pair of strong arms snaked their way around her waist. A hard, chiseled chin rested on the crown of her head._

_"The food will not cook any faster, Miss Baggins, if you keep lifting the lid," Thorin had chuckled in his deep melodic voice._

_"I know, but you know us hobbits—we love our food," she had replied._

_Thorin hummed in agreement. "Indeed, they do."_

_A few strands of his wet black hair fell, sticking to the skin of her cheek._

_"Thorin!" she yelped indignantly. "You're getting me wet!" The Dwarf prince laughed._

A sharp rap at the door snatched her from her roiling thoughts. Bellissima's head perked up waiting to see who was there. The hobbit-girl got up when the knocking noise repeated itself.

"Now, who could that be?" She mused, "Who would visit at this hour?"

She pulled the door open with a strong heave. The person on the other side gave her such shock and delight that she squeaked.

"Balin!" she greeted, arms outstretched.

The old Dwarf grinned, and his dark eyes twinkled. The wrinkly Dwarf wore a tattered maroon trench coat and a beige tunic, which hung over brown trousers and fur boots that came up to his knees. He also showed hints of a few choice pieces of armor here and there, peeking out from the folds of his robes. He seemed weather-worn. But, nonetheless, he reached forward and embraced the hobbit. Laughter reverberated in his chest.

"Bell! Good to see you, too, lassie."

Bellissima disengaged and beckoned him in.

"Come inside Balin, please! It must've been an awfully long journey for you, travelling all the way from Erebor!"

"Yes, well," Balin mumbled, stepping through the threshold, "A long journey, yes, but a short visit."

Bellissima tilted her head. "Why is that?"

"It's a bit of a long story."

"We can talk about it over tea. I've got the kettle going—I just put it on."

Balin pondered this, a thoughtful expression on his face, before he nodded.

"I suppose I can say what I need to over a cup of tea."

Bellissima nodded, and closed the door. The two walked into the kitchen and sat down at her table. Balin let out an uncomfortable exhale as he sat.

"Long journey then?" she asked.

"You can imagine," he responded, eyes darkening.

Bellissia caught on to his black mood. "Balin, what's wrong?" she inquired.

"The journey—the Quest—is actually why I am here." he said, his voice quiet and grim.

The hobbit let out an "oh".

"Yes, it is grave indeed," the old one said. "What I have to say…well, I am unsure of how to say it without hurting you."

A stone of fear dropped in her stomach. "What is it?"

"T-T-Thorin…" Balin began shakily.

Bellissima nodded, the pit in her stomach deepening.

"Thorin is alive."

The hobbit girl, who had been leaning forward in her seat, fell out of her unbalanced chair and onto the hard dirt ground of her home.

"What? Alive? How?" She spluttered a tad ungracefully.

"After the battle, we went to bury him. As it turned out, he was in a deep coma, not dead."

She didn't answer.

"So we've healed him," he continued, "and—"

"How long have you known?" Bellissima interrupted.

Balin looked ashamed. "We've known since the day you left."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" she yelled.

Balin flinched, then sighed. "The situation is…delicate."

"How so?"

"Thorin doesn't remember anything. He has a case of amnesia."

The world stopped spinning for a second as her heart took precious time to shatter all over again.

"What?" she asked, her voice fragile.

"Thorin does not remember much of the events of the quest," Balin explained softly. "And—"

"He doesn't remember me," Bellissima guessed bitterly. The old Dwarf nodded. Bellissima harrumphed angrily. It wasn't that she was particularly mad at Balin, it wasn't his fault—or maybe it was—but she was certainly mad in general. Thorin had been alive for over a year, and she hadn't been alerted. She felt incredibly misled.

"That was not the only reason I came, lass."

She looked up at him incredulously. "Why else?"

"I have recently taken up the job of master scribe in Erebor," he said proudly.

"Congratulations," she snapped. Her voice frothed with malice.

Balin glowered at her, and Bellissima quieted.

"I have taken up the job of master scribe," he continued, "and I am in need of an apprentice."

Bellissima looked around her house, just in case he was talking to someone else. Dwarves were so secretive in their culture that they hardly shared it with outsiders. She was almost sure he wasn't talking to her. She then looked back at him and pointed at herself, a shocked expression written on her face.

"Me?"

Balin nodded. "It would get you closer to Thorin."

Part of her was furious at the Dwarf for not telling her sooner. The other part of her, however, was overjoyed. Her Thorin was alive! And even though he might not remember her now, he might if he saw her again. Her left hand went up slowly, and humbly brushed up against the braid and bronze beads in her hair.

She might be able to see her beloved again.

And yet…


	2. Dreaming of Once-Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellissima reminisces.

Both Balin and Bellissima sat in uncomfortable silence, but finally the older spoke up first, his fingers softly drumming on the kitchen table.

"You're still wearing your marriage braid," he noticed.

Bellissima nodded. "I couldn't cut it. I thought that, if I did, I would've forgotten him somehow. This little braid reminds me that it was possible for someone to care about an ordinary little hobbit."

"You're far from ordinary, lassie," Balin murmured.

"But, I mean…" She paused to sort out her thoughts. "What I mean is, I didn't have a single suitor before the quest. But now, they all come rushing in with thoughts that I may be the richest hobbit in all the Shire!"

"That's 'cause you are."

"Thorin didn't love me for any of those reasons. He loved me for me." And then, "They don't love me," she whispered. "I see it in their eyes. They only want me for my money. As kind as we hobbits are, we can get extremely greedy."

She instinctively put her hand into her waistcoat pocket and fingered the heavy gold ring that rested there. She loved the ring—the smooth gold that it was made of, the comfortable weight of it in her pocket, the cool feel of it under her finger. She withdrew her hand from the metal warily. A grimace crossed her round facial features. Was this how Thorin had felt at the discovery of the Arkenstone? Would her beautiful ring—the reason why she was dubbed 'luck wearer'—corrupt her as the Heart of the Mountain destroyed Thror, Thrain and Thorin?

"There was such a creature, though, who loved you for your heart," Balin said.

Bellissima looked away, her arms wrapped around herself.

"Thorin is lost to me, isn't he? He can't even remember my name."

Balin sighed. With slow and deliberate movements, he walked to where Bell sat on the ground. He reached out his hand and she gratefully took it, allowing him to pull her up. As soon as she was up on her feet, Balin released her hands and grabbed her shoulders.

"Bellissima Baggins," he berated, "Thorin Oakenshield, though he may not remember you, is not lost to you. For the love of Durin, he's alive! Is that not better than him being dead?"

Bell nodded, not uttering a peep.

"Miss Baggins," Balin stated, "you hobbits never cease to amaze me. One moment you're as happy as a cow, and the next as sad as a rainy day." The hobbit allowed herself a tiny smirk.

"Oh Master Burglar," he chuckled. "As long as the both of you are alive, there is the hope that he could remember you, my dear. Love is very powerful, and Thorin is very stubborn; our King under the Mountain will not let a case of amnesia separate him from the one he loves."

Bellissima smiled at him, but still wore a pained expression. "He is rather pig headed and stubborn, isn't he?"

"As are you, lassie!" Balin grinned trying to lighten the mood, his long white beard scrunching up along with the skin on his cheeks. "I know that once you get to Erebor, you'll try to knock those memories right back into him."

Bell's face fell. "I won't do that."

Balin pulled back from her, blinking in surprise. "What? Why not?"

"Because," she spoke softly, "Thorin _is_ stubborn. If he doesn't even remember me, how could he know that he had once loved me? How could he trust my word? Thorin is so in love with the tradition of you Dwarves, he would never believe me if I told him."

"So what do you plan to do?"

"Let it happen all over again."

"Pardon?" Balin asked as if he couldn't comprehend why she was saying her statements.

Bellissima sighed. "If it is still the Thorin I love, then maybe, he will be able to love me again on his own terms."

The white Dwarf did not reply.

"Balin, I cannot expect you to understand; it's just something I think I have to do. Thorin sacrificed everything for his claim over Erebor. Perhaps our love was never supposed to happen. Maybe, just maybe, this is a way for him to start over without having to worry about his hobbit fiancée. This might—"

"Now stop right there, Miss Baggins," Balin commanded, before continuing in a softer tone. "I believe that proposing to you was the best choice Thorin ever made."

"The circumstances were dire," she pointed out, looking down at her ridiculously hairy feet. "We were on a journey to slay a dragon and an accident happened."

"I do not believe that Bellissima." The Dwarf snapped. "Every time my king looked at you, I saw a look that no love of gold could replace ever compare to. He loved you, my dear hobbit. Just remember who put that braid in your hair."

Bellissima glared at him, frustration ebbing at her nerves. She was not ready to take in this news at this time of night. Confounded Dwarves and their ill timing. She stepped away and pulled out her table seat. With an angry grunt, she sat down. Balin nodded and went back to his own chair. With a puff of his bearded cheeks, he sat down.

"So, tell me about your journey," Bellissima demanded, looking at Balin with a steady gaze.

He nodded.

"I fear it is not quite as exciting as our trip to Erebor had been, but I certainly didn't mind. It was three months travel time, as we were able to travel on the main roads the whole time."

"We?"

"I didn't come by myself lassie. I brought a pony too."

The hobbit sighed with relief.

"The weather was good, so I traveled well. A few days, though, there was much rain and even thunder—that was when I was passing through the valley of the storm."

Bellissima shivered.

_"Wait, where's Bell?" Bofur shouted over the howling wind. They had all narrowly escaped being smashed to death by rock giants._

_"Someone help me!" she shrieked, her hands slipping from their grip on the slick rock. Her legs and body dangled heavily. She felt as though she was going to be ripped from her arms._

_"Grab my hand, Miss Bell! Grab on!" the Dwarves screamed in panic. She reached out for Kili, but her other hand slipped on the wet rock. She screamed as she fell further. Thankfully, she caught onto a crevice; her body slammed painfully against the stone. The other arm hung limply and uselessly._

This is how I will die, s _he thought, terrified._ I am going to fall to my death.

_"Bell!" Thorin roared as he crouched down, his left hand grabbing onto the edge of the wall. With great precision, he slid down the side of the wall so he could reach further than the others. His strong arm kept him steady. His other hand reached out. His storm blue eyes held a horror she hadn't understood at the time. Why was he afraid?_

_"Bell, grab my hand!" he bellowed, his voice echoing with fear and worry._

"I do not like the Storm Mountains," Bell whispered with a shudder.

"Aye," Balin agreed. "Hardly anyone does, but the road through there is the quickest way to get here."

The teapot whistled as if responding to the Master Dwarf. Bellissima and Balin were startled by it, for they had forgotten about the tea. The hobbit got up to retrieve the beverage, but Balin held up a halting hand.

"If you don't mind, Miss Baggins," he said, "I'd prefer to retire. It has been a long journey—admittedly, not as long as some—but I am old and the road has made me weary."

"Of course. Follow me, Master Dwarf," she said, leading him to the back room walking away stiffly, her muscles clenching from having sat for so long. When had it gotten so dark out? Balin followed.

She led him under the arches of the threshold of the kitchen into the hallway. With the quiet feet of a burglar and the loud feet of a warrior, they walked down the small hallway. Bellissima paused at a round door. Her heart burned like the fires of the mines of Erebor. It felt as though it was shriveling and turning into ashes. So broken, so broken.

"This is your room," she said, pointing to the door with her thumb.

Balin walked to the door and placed his hand on the knob. He turned his head and glanced at her.

"Thank you, Miss Baggins."

"Just shout if you need anything," she instructed him before turning on her heel and leaving the old Dwarf alone in the hallway.

She walked back to her kitchen numbly. Her body felt like lead. Her mind swam in chaos. Her thoughts pounded against her skull like a hammer to an anvil. _Her heart burned like the fires of the mines of Erebor. It felt as though it was shriveling and turning into ashes. So broken, so broken._

With clumsy hands, she grabbed the kettle and poured the tea water down the drain of the sink. She no longer wished for it. In fact, she felt sick to her stomach. With a groan, Bellissima stumbled back to the living area where she had been reading earlier.

She crawled into her armchair like a child. With a sob, she buried her head on her knees; the fabric of her skirt scratched the skin of her face. With a helplessness she could not suppress, Bellissima placed her arms over her head and began to cry Thorin was alive, and he didn't—couldn't—remember her.

Thorin was alive…

…and he didn't love her…

† † †

_The moon glowed brightly and the stars twinkled happily, their light reflecting on the river. Bellissima looked upward, allowing the night sky to pour its beauty on her pale face. Beorn's house was their only safe haven, and she planned to enjoy the little bit of rest that should could. The plants all danced around her in the breeze, and the water burbled._

_"Bell?"_

_She turned around to see Thorin approach her. His black hair was streaked with gray, giving away his aging years and stress. His clothes were dirty and torn, telltale signs of the brutality of their journey. Yet, he didn't seem any less handsome or regal—even more so._

_"Thorin," she whispered, a smile lighting up her face._

_The prince came up to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body close to his. His beard tickled her forehead and his long midnight locks entwined with her tawny curls. Bellissima breathed in his scent, his smell of metal and furs. Thorin used his large hand to tilt her chin up so she could face him; even though he was a Dwarf, she was so small next to him. And Thorin was tall for a Dwarf—although, not as tall as Dwalin._

_"It is late," he said gently, his voice lulling. "You should be asleep."_

_"I know," she replied quietly, their blue and hazel eyes clashing. "But I couldn't sleep."_

_"Neither could I," Thorin admitted._

_"Thinking?" She asked._

_He hummed and nodded, and, to her disappointment, he pulled away from her._

_"You are lucky, Miss Baggins, that you will never have to lead a nation of people, or even a group as small as our company. The responsibility is great; and now I have even more to worry about."_

_Bell felt her heart drop as Thorin turned away from her._

_"New things to worry about?" she asked._

_"I have to keep in mind the Witch King of Angmar," he responded, "the Orc attacks, the Elves, and now…"_

_He paused. Bellissima swallowed._

_"Us," Thorin murmured turning to face her again. He walked up to her, his figure almost towering over her. "Bellissima, I want to be able to guard and protect you all of your life. There is only one way I can do that."_

_Her stomach fluttered around like a lost butterfly._

_Thorin reached out and cupped her face with his large hands. Tenderly he stroked her right cheek with his thumb._

_"Bellissima Baggins," his beautiful voice whispered, "I know that you and I did not see eye to eye at first. But now, I cannot even imagine my life without your spirit or courage. Bellissima, would you live your days—whether we win this quest or not—with me? To be the light in the darkness of myself?"_

_Bell couldn't do anything to stop the small tears from rolling down her face. Thorin wiped them away lovingly. She smiled at him, her hazel eyes as large as the moon itself._

_"Yes, Thorin, yes," she whispered, her heart practically overflowing with happiness._

_Thorin heaved a sigh of relief and rested his forehead against hers._

_"Then I look forward to being able to call you mine kin for the rest of eternity." He murmured._

_"As do I," she whispered back._

_Thorin kissed away the rest of her tears, his love for her stronger than almost anything he had felt in decades. Then, he reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out three bronze beads. His hands went to the side of her face and grabbed a few strands of hair in his hands._

_"Thorin, what—"_

_"Hush." He commanded._

_Bellissima quieted, but she was curious still._

_With nimble fingers, Thorin braided the strands of hair into a simple plait, like one of his own. When he had woven as far as he could, he braided in the beads to her hair. With a satisfied nod, he tied it off and looked proudly at his work._

_"What is it?" Bell asked._

_"A marriage braid," he answered lovingly. "It is a custom among my people. This way every Dwarf, Elf, man, and hobbit will know that you are mine, and mine alone._

_Her lips trembled at his love for her._

_Thorin leaned forward and touched her chin gently with his fingers. He bowed over her until their lips were almost touching._

_"I love you, Bellissima."_

_"I love you, Thorin," she murmured against him._

_And then their lips met, warm breaths mingling, both hearts flying._

† † †

Bellissima woke up with a start, her hazel eyes wide and full of tears. The hobbit's home was dark, but she was glad for it. She must have fell asleep crying on the chair. But it didn't matter. The brave hobbit who had tried to kill a dragon had long given into sorrow that night. With a pained sob, she touched the braid that rested against her skin.

"Thorin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The marriage braid is an engagement braid. The official Marriage Braid wouldn't happen until they were married. So did you guys like it? I kinda adore Bagginshield. *whispers* It's my OTP.


	3. Hamfast and Anthereon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellissima leaves.

Balin awoke slowly. He opened his old bleary eyes like squeak rusty doors. The world around him was blurred with sleep, so he blinked a few times to get it back into focus.

He was in a bed that was very small, and was covered with large, red, fluffy quilts. The room, too, was very small, and was decorated simply with a dresser and a wash bin. To his right was a door that led to what he assumed was the bathroom. So with a large yawn that probably stole air from the entire room, Balin got up out of the bed. He went to the bathroom to relieve himself and to bathe. After using the soothing cool water—which reminded him of the water in the mines—he drained the water and, with one of the towels that Bellissima had proved for the bathroom, the old Dwarf dried himself with the soft material. Lastly, he clothed himself.

"Perhaps we should bring some of these for Thorin." He rumbled to himself. "I'm sure he doesn't have any towels in all of Erebor that are this soft."

That reminded him.

 _Bellissima,_ he thought rather downcast, _is rather cross with me._

 _Cross with you or with the message you carry?_ A little voice at the back of his head peeped.

He hadn't thought about that before. Maybe the little hobbit wasn't really angry at him, but at his news. After all, it had been over a year since the 'death' of Thorin, she may have felt betrayed that they hadn't told her sooner. Why hadn't she been alerted? He wondered. He himself had been busy assisting Thorin rebuild Erebor from the inside. They could have sent someone else, though. Dwalin was always traveling back and forth between the different Dwarvish kingdoms; surely he could've found time to break the news kindly to their king's lover. Even Bofur or Gloin—who were always traveling—could've told her.

But none of them had.

Instead he had waited. In the course of the year, Thorin had realized that he required a queen. It was then and only then that Balin had thought to retrieve the king's burglar. Before that, the Halfling had not crossed his mind.

Now his absentmindedness had gotten them into a fine mess. Bellissima was angry, and Thorin was looking in all the wrong places to find his queen. It made Balin wonder how the amnesia worked. Why of all the things, people and places that the Dwarf king knew, did he forget Bellissima?

The mind truly is beyond any understanding.

Sighing, the old Dwarf left the bathroom and reentered the bedroom. He tidied the bed up before standing back and looked at the room in its entirety. When he was convinced that the room was in the same condition he'd found it in, he nodded his approval. He reached for the travel pack he carried the day prior and hefted it onto his shoulder. With a grim expression his face, Balin walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

As soon as he walked into the hallway his noise was greeted with the smell of cooking eggs and bacon; his ears was serenaded by the sound of cheerful humming floating around the house.

Balin crept cautiously down the hall to the kitchen. Bellissima was there, running about cooking food and laying it on the table. She wore a light blue waistcoat, and a cream blouse with a neat small collar. She also wore light brown pants that were held up by suspenders. Her tawny auburn hair was pinned up in a messy bun, a few of her curls sticking out—framing her face perfectly.

"Good morning Balin." She chirped, not turning around.

From the back, he could see her marriage braid pinned to the side of her head. The little bronze beads glinted merrily. Balin felt puzzled at the hobbit's sudden change of mood.

"Yes, apparently it is." The Dwarf drawled, looking suspiciously at Bellissima.

"And why shouldn't it be?" She continued, "the sun is shining, the birds are twittering, and I've good company for breakfast."

With that she placed a plate of what appeared to be blueberry flapjacks on the table. The tails of her waistcoat twirled around her body as she spun to face him. She grinned.

"I owe you an apology Balin. I had no reason to have gotten angry at you yesterday, in fact, I should be thanking you. If not for you, I would've never known that Thorin was alive; for that I'm in your debt."

"Apology accepted lass." Balin nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "And you owe me nothing; you helped us win back the Lonely Mountain—that is more than enough payment for a life time."

She smiled gratefully at him and nodded.

"Judging by the way you are dressed, methinks you are ready to begin our journey to Erebor." He chuckled.

Bellissima huffed, and scratched the back of her head. "Well, maybe."

"As I told you, long journey—short visit."

"You knew I would be ready." Bellissima asked, her voice quiet with wonder.

"Yes I did," Balin admitted, "but who wouldn't wish to rush to their beloved?"

"I suppose that's true." She agreed eagerly.

Balin nodded and clapped his hands together. "Right, so, before we leave, do we get to enjoy your cooking?"

Bellissima laughed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, we can."

They both walked over to the food laden table and sat down. The breakfast food both smelled and looked positively divine. There were flapjacks, sausages, eggs, potatoes, fruits, and pastries. She had brewed fine bitter coffee, and set out small glasses of milk to wash everything down. They dug in eagerly and between the two of them, they finished every single dish.

Balin sighed contentedly and leaned against the back of his chair.

"Miss Baggins," He grunted, happily patting his stomach. "You've outdone yourself."

Bellissima looked up from the coffee mug she held in her hands. She pursed her lips.

"Well, if I'm going to Erebor, I don't want food to be rotting in my pantries. I've sold the rest to the merchants in the market."

"It seems as though you've decided to take up residence in Erebor." Balin said, cocking his hair eyebrows.

"For the time being." She agreed standing up and gathering all the plates.

"Would you like help, Miss Baggins?" He called out after her, as she walked to her sink with the water pump.

"No thank you Balin! I'll be done in a jiffy!" She shouted over her shoulder.

"Alright lassie." He affirmed. Without anything to do, the old Dwarf leaned back in his chair again, and closed his eyes. In his head, he began plotting a map with all the quickest and safest roots to Erebor. He knew it would be wise to bypass towns like Bree, where human congestion would only hold them up. They would need to stop by Udhor and Ermirth and other smaller villages for supplies—unless Bellissima had already packed some for the journey. They would also need to avoid Mirkwood; Thranduil would be more than happy to imprison them again. That led them to the Eastern Path that skirted the dark woods. Taking that road would mean they were no less than 300 miles south of New Laketown, or Ulgoroth to the Dwarves. There, he would need to purchase warmer clothes for the hobbit. Shire-folk were not as accustomed to the cold mountain air as Dwarves were.

Balin shivered. That journey had taken a little over a year. Running from orcs, getting lost in forests, losing trails, and being imprisoned had taken up so much time. A quest that should've only taken four months at most, had been stretched painstakingly long. Balin cringed. Thank Durin that they could safely use the main road now.

"Well, all done." Bellissima said, stepping into the room.

Balin opened his eyes. "Ah, yes, good. Anything else you might like to accomplish, Miss Baggins before we leave?"

Bellissima's face twisted, pondering the possible chores. Her nose scrunched up in thought. To the old Dwarf, she looked rather like a child.

 _Hobbits._ Balin thought, laughing a small wheezy chuckle.

Bellissima nodded. "I need to stop at Bree on our way out."

Balin groaned inwardly. "Any particular reason why, lassie?"

"My sword is at a blacksmith shop there." She explained.

"Does not Hobbiton have one?"

"Does it look like Hobbiton has one?"

"Fair enough," Balin admitted, begrudgingly.

"Unless you wanted another day of rest, I'm ready to go now." Bellissima said.

"Have you packed supplies?" Balin asked.

"About a week's worth." Bellissima answered confidently.

 _Well then, we should be able, if we're lucky, to make it to Bree without a problem; we will have to restock by then, though._ He thought before responding; "I have no reason to stay. If we leave now, we should arrive at Bree by three days time."

Bellissima perked up. _We're going! We are actually going to Erebor!_ "Well then, I think we should head off then…now…like right now."

Balin chuckled. "Very well, Master Burglar. If you are ready, then we may leave now."

Bellissima chirped out a happy note before she ran into the hall for a minute. When she reappeared, she had her leather traveling pack on her back. It was completely full.

"No contract this time, right?" She asked, bouncing from foot to foot.

Balin nodded, her chipper emotions contagious. "You are correct. You'll be working for your food, room, and minimal pay—no contract needed for those simple things."

"Good, that's all I want from my work." However, she thought to herself, _I actually don't want any of those things. I only need one person from Erebor._

Balin frowned.

"What about the treasure, lassie?" He whispered. "Have you kept it hidden? Kept it safe?"

"Unless another Dwarf or someone with a nose for gold comes into my house," she warbled amusedly, "then the treasure should be just fine. I've stashed it well away." Bellissima gave him a quick wink. "Guess I picked up the skill from you Dwarves."

Balin chuckled. "It's something we are proud of."

The hobbit cocked her head to the side, a goofy grin lighting her features. With a twinkle in her eyes, she beckoned him to follow her. They both traveled through the halls to the front door. Bellissima pulled the front door open with a strained grunt. Balin passed through first, and then she followed after him.

The crisp morning air met her again for the second time that day, she had been out at dawn selling her goods. With a sigh, Bellissima turned around and closed the door. She dug around in her pockets, ignoring the Ring, until she found the key. Taking it out, she locked her home up good and tight. She laid her hand on the door.

"Keep my secrets safe." She murmured before turning around and walking towards Balin.

The Dwarf was standing hands on hips, looking rather incredulously at the two ponies that had been tied to Bellissima's white painted fence. His eyes darted to the hobbit girl that approached him.

"Did you saddle up both ponies and pack them with supplies?" Balin stated.

She looked up to the Dwarf with a cocky grin. "Nope."

Balin hesitated. "Then who—"

"That would be me, Master Dwarf, sir."

Balin spun around. There standing behind him, with a sack slung over his shoulder was a male hobbit. He was dressed in the norm hobbit wear of velvet green trouser with suspenders over a pale blue shirt. His strawberry blonde hair was a mess of curls peeking out from under a gardener's straw hat. The hobbit's green eyes glowed with mischief.

The hobbit bowed. "Hamfast Gamgee, pleased to meet your acquaintance, sir."

Balin blinked for a second and then bowed as well. "Balin, at your service."

Hamfast stuck his hand out. Balin looked at it with confusion until he realized what the hobbit wanted. Quickly so as not to seem rude, he grabbed Hamfast's hand and gave it a hearty shake. The hobbit cringed, drawing away from the Dwarf shortly after.

"Got quite a grip, don'cha sir?" He chuckled nervously.

Balin looked queerly at him. "Hm, I suppose."

Turning away from Balin's skeptical gaze, Hamfast walked up to Bellissima and nodded to her.

"Ready to set off then, ma'am?"

"Yes. And…you will do as you say?" She asked quietly.

"Aye, Miss," Hamfast nodded eagerly. "I'll keep an eye on the old home for you. An' I'll make sure that rotten ol' Lobelia won't even come close to your home…or your garden for that matter."

Bellissima let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you Hamfast; this—I wouldn't be asking this of you if it weren't important."

"Well that's what friends are for!" He piped up. "And although, I don' very much like trompin' around havin' adventures and such—you do. And as your friend, I want all the happiness for you Miss Bellissima, ma'am."

The hobbit-girl sighed and placed a hand on the gardener's shoulder. "What would I do without you?"  
"You'd be stuck with an unguarded home, that's what." Hamfast chuckled, before pushing her away playfully. "Now go on, quickly. Before anyone notices."

Bellissima nodded, before pulling away. She walked to Balin and the two nodded simultaneously before mounting the two ponies. With that, they began to plod away. Bellissima, however, pulled back suddenly on the horse's reins and turned back to look at Hamfast.

"If I don't come back, give Drogo my spare key." She commanded.

Hamfast nodded. "And the maps as well?"

Bellissima cocked her head to the side. The map Hamfast spoke of, guided the keep through the tunnels under her house. Those tunnels led to her few chests of trolls' treasure that she safeguarded. If she didn't return, then what use were the maps to her?"

"Yes, those as well." She agreed.

"Safe travels Ms. Baggins."

"Good bye Hamfast."

She turned and spurred her pony forward, catching up to Balin. He wasn't that far ahead so she caught up to the older Dwarf easily. They were quiet for a bit, until the Dwarf finally spoke.

"He seems like a nice lad."

Bellissima hummed an affirmative.

"Known him long?"

"Since we were Shirelings."

"Ah, good."

They were silent for a while longer until Bellissima realized what Balin was implying. She whipped her head around to glare at him with shocked eyes.

"For the love of Mahal, Balin! How could you even think of Hamfast and me like that?"

The Dwarf cocked a bushy eyebrow.

"Sure I told him about our journey," she continued on frantically. "But I would never, ever think of him like that! He's a trustworthy friend and I know he'll keep my stuff in check while we're gone! But, I don't bloody think of him more than a friend! I wouldn't dare think, not for all the food in the world, think to betray Thorin!"

Balin tilted his head with an amused grin. "You done lassie?"

Bellissima sat back on her pony, confused and flustered. "Wha—?"

"I believe you."

"B-b-but, after that whole rant—" she puffed with gasps.

"Do you remember the first thing you said?"

"How could you think of him and me like that?"

"No, go a bit further."

"I don't…oh."

For the love of Mahal.

One of Thorin's favorite—definitely milder—curses. She hadn't realized she said it, it just came out. Now that she remembered, Bellissima recalled that she'd said the same phrase many times since the Quest for Erebor. A few of the other hobbits had even pointed that out to her, curious on who or what Mahal was. Quite frankly, she wasn't too sure.

"You cursed using his words. When you love someone enough," Balin said interrupting her thoughts, "you tend to repeat the things they say, even years after you've know them."

Bellissima blushed and turned to face forward.

"Let's just get to Bree." She grumbled.

† † †

By the time they had reached the town of Men, the sun had begun to set on the third day; the stars peeking out from underneath the blushing sky. The ponies panted and foamed, they had reason enough, being that it was ninety miles from the Shire. Perhaps they had been laden them with a bit too many supplies—even though half of them were gone by now.

They both dismounted. Balin's boots clopped heavily against the sun baked earth, while Bellissima's bare feet landed gently. Taking the reins of both ponies, Balin knocked on the door to the front gate. The small sliding door at the top opened before shutting and opening up another one that was almost eye level with them.

"Good evening sir." Balin greeted politely.

"Evenin'." The gate keeper grunted. "A Dwarf 'n a hobbit?"

"Dwarf and a hobbit."

The door slammed shut and the gate itself opened up with a moaning creak. As Balin and Bellissima passed through. They both nodded their heads to the gate keeper in gratitude.

"Enjoy your stay in Bree, sir and madame." He said.

"So where's the smithy?" Balin asked, looking around at all the Men who forced their way past the two.

"This way," she directed, trying to see her way over all the tall heads.

When she saw the shop, her eyes lit up. She veered to the left. Balin grunted and followed her.

For a Dwarf, he was old and very short. Among the Men, though, he was probably as short as his hobbit companion and a proud one at that. He did not want to be confused for a hobbit.

Bellissima led them to a shop with an anvil for a sign. She turned to face him and pointed to the wooden posts in front of the house.

"We can tie the horses here."

Balin followed her lead and went up the stairs to the small door designed for hobbits. They both squeezed in, and a small bell announced their entrance. When they came into the building they were met with the strong smells of smoke, fire, and iron.

Bellissima choked on the smell. It reminded her too much of the past. _I used to find this smell appealing, but now…_ she thought, _but now it is toxic with memories._

Squaring her shoulders, she forced the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. Now was not the time to mourn memories. Bellissima walked over to the Man sized desk and knocked on the wood. A young woman's head leaned over the counter top. She had straight dirty blonde hair and cunning brown eyes. Her facial expression was nothing but smiles and glee.

"Miss Baggins, how are you?" the girl chirped brightly.

"I am doing fine Merlee." Bellissima responded with as much happiness as she could muster. "Your husband wouldn't happen to be around now, would he?"

"He just happens to be! I'll go and get him." She said before stepping away and walking down a hall that led towards the back of the shop.

Balin stepped up next to Bellissima. "So what is the blacksmith's name?"

"His name is—"

"Bellissima!"

They both turned to see a tall, lean man approach them. He had burgundy shoulder length hair that was currently in a ponytail. His pale skin was gleaming and sweaty—a stark contrast against this emerald tunic and dark brown pants. He took his black smithy apron off and hung it over his arm. He gave them a small bow. His hair fell over his neck briefly, but when he pulled back up, glimpses of pointed ears poked out from underneath the pulled back hair.

 _An elf._ Balin sucked in his breath.

"Miss Baggins, I did not expect you so early." He said giving her a charming smile.

"I know, Anthereon, but I had to come as soon as possible."

Anthereon spared a side glance for Balin. His eyes narrowed and his happier demeanor seemed to fade. His muscles visibly tightened.

"A Dwarf." He hissed.

Bellissima tugged at the edge of his tunic. "Please, Anthereon, I need Sting tonight. I'm going on a journey."

The elf brightened and turned back to the hobbit; he couldn't help but be softer towards her. She was his star pupil. "To where do you venture, young one?"

"Erebor." She declared looking him full in the eyes.

Anthereon arched one of his slender eyebrows. "Erebor, home to the Dwarf king Thorin. I do not suppose this has to do with your past adventure, does it?"

"It does indeed." Bellissima announced, making sure not to resurface any other unpleasant memories.

"Very well." The elf nodded. "I will go get your sword; it has been sharpened to precision and polished to perfection."

"Excuse me, Master Anthereon." Balin interrupted suddenly. "But Miss Bell is no fighter. The blade was sharp enough for only her defense."

Anthereon's eyes sparkled. "Is he entirely unaware of your occupation, Miss Baggins?"

"I haven't talked to him in over a year." She admitted sheepishly. "I haven't been able to tell him."

"Tell me what lassie?"

"Miss Baggins is a talented fighter." Anthereon announced proudly. "Over the past year, I have trained her in the art of elven sword fighting. Although she is no elf in stature or physique, she has become like one in her skill. During her training, she has joined a group called the Guardians—they watch the borders and protect them from any attackers."

Balin looked at Bellissima incredulously.

"It's true." She affirmed. "After our Quest, I figured I should learn to fight. So when I found out that an elf was offering lessons—I just had to ask."

"I was all too eager to help a hobbit who wielded the matching dagger to Ocrist." The elf explained.

"If you don't mind me questioning," Balin wondered aloud, "but why aren't you training with the others of your kind?"

Anthereon's face fell and his bright eyes darkened.

"My kin believe me dead." He drawled out slowly. "They thought I perished in a battle fought long ago. I bear many scars from that battle, and I am fortunate enough to have my magic to hide them. They are evidence of the full wrath of war."

"That still does not explain why you are here." The Dwarf pointed out.

"I, like Miss Baggins, came across an unexpected journey." He explained gesturing down the hall where Merlee had disappeared to. "I found my Star of Stars and she has borne both of my children—mine kin. As much as I wanted to leave this town when I returned to my full strength, I found myself unable. My wife is so attached to Bree, I could not pull her away from the only home she knows. She deserves all the joys that her short life time may supply. Such are the ways of love."

Balin agreed with that. "Indeed."

Bellissima turned her head to the side. Here Anthereon was, a wounded war hero like Thorin. Everything had turned out well for him. He had a beautiful human wife, children, and a rewarding job. Even though it wasn't the lustrous life of the elves, Anthereon was happy. Bellissima could only wish the same luck would come to her as well.

 _You are 'luck wearer'._ She thought to herself..

"Come," Anthereon said, casting aside his somber mood as quickly as sunshine expels shadows. "I shall give you Sting tomorrow morn; the night has already come upon us. Tonight you shall dine with my family and be guests in our house."

Balin smiled, his beard scrunching up on his cheeks. _An elf who offers food,_ he thought, _cannot be entirely bad._

"We would be honored, Master Elf." He answered, surprising himself.

Anthereon smiled, and his eyes twinkled jovially. "Follow me then, Master Dwarf, Miss Baggins."

He spun around with a warrior's grace and walked down the hallway. He chatted to them in an amiable manner, about his and the Dwarf's familiar crafts. Bellissima smiled sadly, thinking about a certain fallen Dwarf. An elf and a Dwarf chatting about as if they were old friends—who would've thought it?

For a few hours Balin and Bellissima ate with Anthereon, Merlee, and their two young children Torgas and Radir. Once the meal was finished Merlee showed the two guests to their rooms. It was quite a restful night for the hobbit and the Dwarf.

It did not last long however, because it felt to Bellissima that as soon as she shut her eyes, Balin was there shaking for her to awaken. She groaned.

"It's time to go, Miss Bell." He whispered. "It is almost sunrise."

Bellissima nodded and left without another word. Groggily, she got up out of her bed and pulled on her jacket; she hadn't bothered changing that night because she knew they were leaving early. After making the bed and freshening up a bit, she went down to the kitchen. Anthereon was there cooking food. He smiled at her and gestured to her to sit down at the table with Balin.

Once she sat, the elf set plates of bagels and fresh fruit before them, along with mugs of hot coffee to wash the food down. Shortly he joined them with a plate of his own. They ate in amicable silence.

As they were finishing, the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet echoed down the hall. They all looked up to see Radir standing in the door way. His night clothes were wrinkled and his choppy brown hair was ruffled.

" _Lonneg."_ Anthereon greeted with a soft smile and a gentle voice.

" _Ada."_ The boy replied quickly, before turning to Bellissima. "Are you going on a journey Miss Boggeens?"

Bellissima was suddenly and painfully reminded of Fili and Kili. Those two had never gotten her name right, had they? Although, it didn't bother her now—she almost missed it.

"Yes, I am going on a journey." She replied quietly.

The boy gave a deflated sigh. "Then _Nanna_ and _muindor_ both say good bye. They sleep."

"Which is where you should be, Radir." His father added.

" _Ada,_ can I not see them out?" He pleaded turning to his father with big elfish eyes.

Anthereon nodded reluctantly, and the child squeaked with joy.

"We should be on our way." Balin said.

Bellissima nodded in agreement.

"Leave your plates, I will get hem after your departure." Their host said, getting up as well.

Together, they went outside. The sun was just starting to rise, sprinkling tine drops of sun over the roofs of the town. It was lovely.

Bellissima turned around when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Anthereon held out Sting. With a smile, she grabbed it, and strapped the belt and sword onto her waist. The sword fell into its place on her hip perfectly.

"Thank you." She said.

The elf crouched down and gather her into a hug. "May the Valar protect you, _elvellon._ May you find what you look for in the Lonely Mountain."

"I hope so." She muttered into his shirt.

He pulled away from her and stood up, allowing his son to hug the hobbit. Anthereon looked at Balin tentatively. But the Dwarf smiled, so Anthereon did too.

"Fair travels Dwarf, may the road be favorable to you."

"And may your craft stay profitable." Balin replied.

The elf turned back to Bellissima and separated her from his child. He gave her a gentle nudge towards Balin who had aleady mounted. She walked over to her pony and prepared to leave.

"Bye, Miss Boggeens!" Radir cheeped out.

She waved to them one last time before she and Balin had their ponies trot away. It was time. They were on the road to Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think, did y'all like my elf reaction towards Balin?


	4. Whistle of the Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellissima and Balin run into trouble on the road.

The trees danced around, the wind whispering through the leaves and branches. Birds twittered and fluttered in and out of the lush foliage. Two figures stood among the tree—and watched the world around them with interest. Such was the way of elves.

They stood proudly, with statuesque stillness. The two elves were almost identical in appearance save that one had long auburn hair and brilliantly keen violet eyes. The other elf had long, curling waves of blonde locks, and jovial sea-blue eyes. They both held their matching bows, and twin blades hung from their hips. Their clothes were identical—blue green tunics, leggings, and cloaks.

The blonde one cocked her head. " _This is a campsite_." She said her observations in Sindarin.

The auburn haired one nodded and broke her stillness. With cat-like movements, she crouched down. Her slender fingers brushed up against the ground. She frowned.

" _Serafina, this is not a camp of men,"_ she murmured.

Serafina joined her companion and pressed her fingers to the dirt, before lifting them. With graceful movements, she brought her hand to her nose. She gave a sniff.

_"This bears the scent of both Dwarf and hobbit, Kiera,"_ she responded in a hushed tone.

_"These were not the tracks I expected to find on our hunt, sister,"_ Kiera said as she shifted her quiver of arrows.

_"Neither did I,"_ Serafina agreed, standing up to her full height.

_"What would a Dwarf and a hobbit be doing traveling together?"_ the auburn-one wondered. Her voice lilted with curiosity.

_"Perhaps it is another occurrence like that of two years ago."_ Serafina suggested.

Kiera looked at her sister and cocked one of her slender brows. _"You refer to the expedition of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain?"_

_"The very same."_

_"Erebor has already been reclaimed; why would more Dwarves and hobbits come through if the battle has been won?"_

_"A curious question. I hope it has an even more mysterious answer."_

Both elves searched the ground for more evidence of the passersby. They worked diligently and swiftly. They were about to stop with little clues when Kiera drew back from the ground with a disgusted grimace.

Serafina's head shot up in alarm. _"What? What is it?"_

_"We need to start tracking the Dwarf and the hobbit,"_ Kiera growled lowly.

_"But what of our hunt?"_

_"Does it really matter?"_

_"Why do you speak thus?"_

Kiera's violet eyes darkened until they were almost black. _"We are not the only ones to stumble across their camp."_

It was then that Serafina saw what her sister had discovered. She recoiled at the sight, standing up immediately. She fingered the elven blade that rested on her hip eagerly.

_"We must leave immediately. We cannot be too far behind the travelers."_

Kiera nodded. _"We must cut across the northern border of the forest. If the tracks are correct, they are moving towards the East."_

_"Then let us hope your hunting skills have not deteriorated, dear sister."_ Serafina said quietly, readying herself.

Kiera grinned smugly. _"They never do."_

The flaxen haired elf gave a brief chuckle before breaking into a run. They leaped through the trees with the elegance of a pair of deer. They stayed steady paced as the followed the tracks they had found.

Warg tracks.

† † †

"I spy, with my tired eyes, something…green."

Balin groaned with displeasure. "We've been playing this game every day three weeks, lassie! Do you not tire of it?"

Bellissima snorted indignantly. "Since it's the only thing keeping me from falling off this pony from an overdose of boredom—no."

"How does playing this 'spying' game keep you entertained, Miss Bell?" Balin grunted, keeping his eyes straight ahead on their path.

The hobbit chuckled. "I'm surprised you Dwarves have never heard of this game before. Every child, hobbit and human, know of it; it's a simple, fun way of passing the time."

"We Dwarves would have no use of it. Most of us focus on the task at hand." Balin pointed out.

"Oh, dull." Bellissima quipped, turning her head to look forward.

They were quiet. The only sound was that of the ponies plodding along pleasantly and the breeze gently bustling around the two.

Bellissima looked up to her companion, her brow furrowed.

"What is it, lassie?" Balin asked.

The hobbit sighed. "I just realized that—when I last saw the Lonely Mountain—it was in shambles. The city within the mount was ruined and the gold of the king reeked of dragon. Has the mountain changed in these two long years?"

Balin nodded. "Aye. Though much of the mountain has its ruins, Thorin has begun to rebuild it well. Dwarves are hardy, quick workers. Also, even though he is now King under the Mountain, Thorin works among the others if he can. When he's not being a diplomat with Bard and Thrandûil, he's working among the other blacksmiths—building things and tools for the mountain and her people.

"And what effect do we have? Most of the halls shine with slick gray stone, washed of the char left by Smaug. Jewels line the walls and crevices, small candles brighten the halls in glittering light. The gold decorates the ceilings and her nooks, making it seem as though the sun always shines. It is becoming quite the sight to behold."

"Sounds as though…wait." She paused and then cocked her head to the side. "Did you say that Thorin delegates with Bard and Thrandûil?"

Balin chuckled. "Yes, Miss Bell. As an apology, Thorin gave the elven king the star stones he desired and Bard…well…"

"What did he give the bowman?"

Balin looked a bit guilty. "He gave our most beloved stoneback."

"He gave Bard…Thorin gave the Arkenstone back to Bard?" she sputtered, shocked that the Dwarf king would do such a thing.

Balin nodded. "Thorin did not want to succumb to avarice as he and his father once had. The Arkenstone was the worst tempter. The lad figured that the humans needed it more than the Dwarves. Not long after the Arkenstone has given, New Lake Town became a growing port and trading ground. It might not be as rich as Dale once was, but is becoming richer than the old Lake Town. Bard is a good leader."

"I can't believe that Thorin would just give him the Arkenstone." she whispered shivering.

_The proud Dwarf looked at her with anger and hate._

_"I trusted you! Loved you!" he bellowed furiously. "I gave you my heart and you betrayed me!"_

_She looked at him pleadingly, her eyes leaking tears. But Thorin offered her no comfort, no sign that he would forgive her actions. He only stood menacingly in front of her, his blue eyes storming with fury and greed._

_"You are not yourself Thorin!" she shouted. "The curse of the stone has gone to your head!"_

_"I am fine," he sneered. "You,_ ghivashel, _are the sick one."_

_Her lips trembled. "Thorin, I gave Bard the Arkenstone to protect you from the treasure's sickness!"_

_His large hands closed around her cheeks cupping her face. For a moment, a pained and regretful expression flicked across his facial features. However, it disappeared as quickly as it had come. His voice was low and quiet, but his grip tightened in a painful way._

_"You've thrown your lot in with them," he growled. "You are no longer a part of this company."_

_And his hand slowly crept its way up to the beads in her hair. She shook, trying to back away from the hand. She knew what he would do._

_"You are no longer mine."_

Bellissima looked weakly at Balin. "He really gave it to the bowman?"

"Aye, lassie." Balin nodded, realizing that the news might've struck a nerve.

The hobbit's jaw clenched, and she stared forward. Her hands gripped the reins tightly—the knuckles turning white. Bellissima was relieved that the King under the Mountain had learned to see past his greed to what was best for everyone; especially with the descendant of Lord Girion. But…the thrice blasted stone had caused her so much pain. Because of it, she and Thorin had almost parted on ill-terms with each other.

Almost.

They had gotten lucky during the battle of the five armies—lucky that Thorin had been killed (almost); lucky that she had needed to say good-bye to him on his deathbed; lucky that the gold sickness had died with the battle; lucky that he had apologized, professed his love, and begged for her to forgive him, which she, of course, did.

Bellissima supposed that they were both blessed with the fact that she had been born a hobbit. Had she been any other race of Middle Earth, she probably would not have accepted Thorin's apology. Hobbits were quick to forgive, even if they had been wronged most grievously, but only if the offender could prove themselves true.

Much like Dwarves, hobbits (for the most part) love only once. They wait their whole life for their perfect mate. She knew Thorin was hers; and he knew that she was his. So seeing the Dwarf prince, on a cot bleeding, bruised, and dying, she had to say yes to his heartfelt apology. She knew he would die, and she wanted him to know that she would love him no matter what; love is unconditional. Who would've known that Thorin's last wish was for her to know that he would always love her—even all the way from the halls of Mahal.

But now that he was alive, and forgetful, was that promise still valid?

Bellissima vaguely heard Balin calling her name. She tilted her head to the side so she could see him and blinked at him owlishly.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

The old Dwarf huffed with a bit of impatience. "I've been callin' you, lassie, for quite some time. If you don' mind me askin', where do you go, Miss Baggins?"

Bellissima gave him a very Tookish smile, knowing full well that she would not tell him her thoughts.

"Just here and there," she answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "With everything that I've seen, it's enough to keep any hobbit entertained for a lifetime."

Balin frowned. That was not the answer he wanted.

The hobbit's grin widened at the Dwarf's reaction. He was clearly unsatisfied with her reply, but that was all he was going to get out of her on the subject. Bellissima marveled sometimes, now included, at how here Took side would surface at the strangest of times. Silly Took side.

"Come, tell me more of the coming glories of Erebor. I'm curious to know what I will see," she piped up, but kept her eyes on the road.

"And if I don' tell you?" Balin asked innocently.

Bellissima snorted. "Oh yes, very mature _Master_ Dwarf."

"A pleasure, Miss Baggins." He bowed with all the false gravitas of a jester. His pony nickered a bit as he moved.

The hobbit shifted her weight in her seat. Her pony whinnied too at the sudden movements. Bellissima gave Balin and questioning look.

"Do you think they're tired?"

"Or they felt us moving. You still haven't ridden much, have you?"

"You can walk everywhere in the Shire."

"Fair point."

"So," Bellissima prodded, "are you going to tell me or not?"

"Alright, fine, lass," Balin sighed throwing his hands up in defeat. "So, where did I leave off, then?"

"It is quite a sight to behold with all its jewels in the walls and the like," she said with a poor imitation of his voice.

He chuckled, before regaining his 'storyteller's' voice. "Not only is Erebor becoming rich with its looks, but in the people as well. Dwarves from all over have come to live in the mountain. Dain has brought his Dwarves from the Iron Hills, and Dís has brought the Dwarves from the Blue Mountains."

"Who is Dís?" Bellissima asked. "I know Dain is Thorin's cousin, but this Dís person is quite unknown to me?"

Balin couldn't stop the loud bark of a laugh from rising in his throat. "Lady Dís, my dear hobbit, would be your future sister-in-law."

Bellissima's face turned as red as a beet. "A sister? Thorin has a _sister_?"

"Yes he does. Fíli and Kíli were his nephews after all." Balin pointed out.

"But I presumed that they were a brother's sons!"

"Aye, he had a brother too, but…he died in battle a long time ago."

The hobbit's face fell, and a small part of her wondered how many things about Thorin she had not known.

"What was his name?"

"Frerin."

Bellissima purposely avoided the older Dwarf's gaze. "I never knew."

"It is something Thorin doesn't like to talk about, lassie," Balin said sorrowfully. "If you were not there that day, you wouldn't know. He died with Víli: Fíli's and Kíli's father."

"The battle of Moria," the hobbit whispered.

Balin nodded.

Thorin had told her a little of that battle when he had first spoken of Anzanulbizar. The great Dwarf prince had spoken of the sorrow he had suffered that day. Seeing so many of his kin who he cared for slaughtered mercilessly by the hands of orcs. "Damn blasted orcs." Thorin had cursed them many a time in Khuzdul while he unfolded his tale. Bellissima hadn't minded, though.

"I wish I would've know," she said to Balin quietly. "Maybe I could've helped Thorin with…his sorrow."

"I doubt you would understand his loss," Balin admitted to her. "He probably would've been frustrated with your sympathy."

"I would understand," she whispered.

"Lass—"

"When I was twenty-one years," Bellissima interrupted him, her eyes strictly looking at the road. "There was a horrible, horrible winter. We hobbits, we tend to love the spring, summer, even fall; but the winter season has always been a terrible thing. It is hard to grow, for hardly anything grows in the fields. The most dangerous, though, we called the Fell Winter. That winter we lost all of our crops. Many of us died of starvation, and many froze—and those of us who hadn't suffered those fates were forced to hunker down until it ended.

"Or worse. There were some whose fate was far worse." She shivered. "The Brandywine River had flooded over and then frozen, forming a very sturdy bridge from the forest into Hobbiton. Many things crossed over, including, unfortunately, wolves.

"They poured into our homes like a river unfrozen. They tore apart everything—living and not. Hobbits who had poorly made smials were killed, for the awful, blood-thirsty creatures could easily break in and eat them. Hobbits who dared to venture outside of their homes to search for food were eaten immediately.

"My mother, Belladonna Took, realized that others on Bagshot Row would not survive long without food. She gathered up as much food as she could and raced outside to visit the others. She never came back. My father, Bungo Baggins, was foolish enough to try and go after her. I never saw my parents again after that."

Bellissima sucked in her breath, her heart aching in so many ways. "So, even though my situation might not have been as drastic as war, the loss is the same. I know what it's like to lose the people you love and look up to."

Only then did she dare look at Balin. His eyes were soft and he wore a frown. He reached a gloved hand out to pat her on the shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, lass," he said. "I offer you my condolences."

Bellissima sniffled. "It was a long time ago."

"You and I both know that those scars never go away," Balin replied seriously.

"No, but they do fade. I try not to reopen them."

Balin blinked and looked at her with a bit of admiration. In Bellissima's eyes, Dwarves were stubborn. They seemed to hold grudges longer than most races—but then of course, that had probably been because she once spent most of her time with the one Dwarf that hated everybody.

_Not everybody!_ chirped a little voice in her head.

_Oh bugger off, in the end he did._ She snapped back.

_Not entirely._ He _did love you in the end._

Bellissima chose to ignore that last statement. She turned to Balin and opened her mouth to speak. But as she did, a horrible, horrible sound came from the Trollshaw Forest behind them.

Howling. Howling that did not come from ordinary wolves.

Her thoughts from before were lost in terror. It was the same terror she had when she was a young girl, a stale, primary fear of being ripped to shreds. The same horror she had felt during the Fell Winter and when she had first seen an orc pack.

"Wargs."

Balin didn't need another prompting. He slapped her pony, sending it hurtling forward along the path. He followed behind her, their horses running as fast as they could. The howls got louder.

Bellissima wanted to shout that they couldn't out run them. There was no chance—wargs always won a long distance race. She couldn't speak, however, much less shout. Her heart was pounding too fast. Her breath was hitched, coming out in small, strangled breaths. Her hands were clammy and sweaty; and she could feel herself shivering. She, Bellissima Baggins, was terrified.

_Wargs are not anything you haven't faced,_ she scolded herself.

The reprimand didn't help to quell her fear. It just surfaced the memories of the creatures. Their huge size and their huge teeth and claws. She remembered the ugly orcs that were the blasted creatures' riders.

Suddenly, the howling stopped. And before she could turn to question Balin, she was violently ripped from her pony. The poor creature crumpled to the ground and Bellissima found her shoulder in the mouth of a warg. She screamed as they hit the ground, the creature shaking her back and forth like a ragdoll. Her hands tried to find Sting but she was shaking, and there was blood. Her blood.

And for some ridiculous, idiotic reason, her mind called out to the one person who probably didn't care.

_Thorin! Thorin please—_

There was a yell, and suddenly the warg was forced off of her; its teeth dragging through her shoulder. The violent removal of the beast was worse than the bite of the warg.

Balin had driven the creature off with his star tipped mace, slashing at it with precise blows. The hobbit got up slowly and drew Sting, the blade just barely glowing blue. With a shout that was a mix between terror, pain, and anger, she lunged at the creature. Her blade sunk right through the damned beast's skull until it was sword-hilt deep in flesh. The creature fell to the ground with a thud.

There was no orc rider.

"A scout," she gasped, trying to yank the sword free of the creature.

"It is only one, hopefully that means there aren't too many behind it," Balin said, pulling the sword out for her.

She gave him a grateful nod. Her left arm hung limply to the side, dangling uselessly. The Dwarf reached out to touch the injured shoulder. She pulled away.

"I'll be fine for now," she snapped. "What I want to know is what orcs are doing this close to Bree."

"Now is not the time. We have to get somewhere safe, lass," he said.

"Not sure that's possible Balin." Bellissima groaned, looking at her pony. The creature was lying on the ground, as dead as the warg. Claw marks scarred the creatures hind quarters and neck. "We've got one pony, the closest safe haven is Rivendell, and that is still a day's travel away."

"We can't fight an orc pack!" the Dwarf protested.

At that moment, ten wargs crested over the hill. The orc riders atop looked at the two travelers with predatory hunger. Balin tightened his grip on his bladed mace, and Belissima hefted Sting into a defensive position.

_Thank you Anthereon,_ she thought, _for insisting that I learn one-handed sword combat_.

The older Dwarf pressed his back up against hers so that they could cover each other.

The wargs poured down the hill growling, snapping, and yowling. The orcs were just as rowdy and loud as they raised their bulky weapons and they charged.

Bellissima exhaled as the first orc and warg came to her. The rider brought its huge weapon down upon her head. With a quick flick of her arm, she blocked the blow—but it sent her arm vibrating. Next, she slashed at the warg's nose, upsetting the creature. The orc yelled and brought its mace upon her again. This time, she slashed at it, not exactly pushing the weapon out of the way, but deflecting the blow all the same. She then sent in her own strike at the warg's eyes. The monster howled and bucked, sending the unsuspecting orc flying. The wolf-like beast lunged at her, its eyes bleeding. She thrust at its nose and jaw again. It reared up angrily, that was when she slammed the point of her sword into its chest before quickly drawing it out again.

She had no time to recover, because an orc charged at her. She dodged its first blow before she stuck her blade up its middle, the point protruding from the back. The creature made an odd gurgling sound with a mouth full of blood before it fell to the ground.

The next warg was upon her before she could properly grasp Sting. She fell back as it rammed her. She scuffled about in the dirt, but soon found that the orc rider had jumped from its mount and onto her. They grappled about, her wriggling underneath the creature like a slippery fish. The monster yanked out a jagged knife, and grinned at her.

Her eyes glowed angrily for a second before she reached into her waistcoat pocket and drew out the Ring. The orc howled and fell back in surprise as she disappeared. Bellissima grabbed her opportunity and dived for Sting. She held the weapon in her useful hand and then spun around—swiftly decapitating the orc.

"Here I am," she sneered as she shoved her Ring back into her pocket.

With a scream and a thrill of adrenaline, she lunged at the next warg. It was not the smartest idea, but to give the little hobbit credit, it was a fierce one.

"Lass, look out!" Balin called out.

Before she could prepare herself, an orc can out from behind her and smashed its mace into her backside. She was flung across the ground and landed with a thud. She gasped, her breath refusing to come in or out. Bellissima finally got a hold of it, but by then it was too late. The orc that had hammered her picked her up by her hair and brought her face to face with it. It grinned maliciously before licking its lips. The hobbit quivered.

Suddenly a whistle echoed through the trees. A whistle of a sparrow perhaps…

And then the orc looked surprised before it dropped her and fell to the ground. Bellissima saw that an arrow protruded from the back of its head. Before she could even yelp, a slender set of hands helped her up.

She was brought face to face with a blonde elf with sapphire eyes.

"Peace, little one, we shall help," the female whispered, before nimbly jumping away to shoot at the next warg and orc.

There was another she-elf with her, an auburn haired one. They both danced about the remaining wargs and orcs, shooting them easily. In no time, between the two elves, all the creatures were felled.

Bellissima pursed her lips, biting down a scream of pain. Balin looked plain tired.

The auburn haired elf turned towards them.

" _Naug, periannath,_ you are both far from your homes."

Balin spoke. "That is true, but we are traveling home."

"The _periannath_ lives in the Shire," the blonde elf said. "What business do you have, Dwarf, with a Halfling?"

"I am not half of anything," Bellissima snapped, her body now weakening without the adrenaline.

The blonde gave her a humoured look. "My apologies."

"As much as we should talk about this, the lass is severely hurt." Balin said pointing to Bellissima's shoulder.

The auburn haired elf looked at Bellissima before striding over. She crouched down and gently touch her should where it had been torn.

"It is a deep wound," she said, "but nothing I am not capable of fixing."

She stood up.

"Come," the blonde elf called. "We shall camp further away from this place. There we can heal the _periannath._ "

They began to walk away without a glance back.

Bellissima tiredly walked up to her dead pony and salvaged her travel pack. She looked at Balin, who had grabbed the reins of his pony. Together they followed their two mysterious saviors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not even what? Their first month and they've already run into trouble, and Bellissima is already unconscious? What is this?


	5. No Use for Rings of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellissima dreams...again.

_The room was filled with wonderful sounds of merriment as the other Dwarves celebrated the announcement of Thorin's and Bellissima's engagement. Beorn had served them a barrel-load of honey milk to applaud them as well. The atmosphere was warm and bubbly, especially now that the lot of them were losing their sobriety. How was that even possible with honey milk?_

_Grinning, Bellissima looked up at Thorin. The raven-haired Dwarf looked down upon her with pride. Even he was offering a smile that graced his features. The hobbit blushed, her cheeks growing even redder. Gandalf and Beorn were laughing as the other Dwarves were singing some Dwarvish engagement song. Feeling rather bold and Tookish, Bellissima stumbled out of her chair and clambered onto the table. The Dwarves looked up at the usually shy hobbit in surprise. Thorin opened his mouth, but closed it when he saw the glint of mischief in her eyes._

_"Um, yes, hullo everyone." Bellissima slurred, urged on by the Dwarves' sudden roar of encouragement. "Yes well, I'd like—um, I daresay it is a rather common tradition in my family for the…the future bride to compose a song. It seems now it is my turn to carry on this practice of the Tooks. So, let's hope my work for the past three days has not been a waste."_

_The hobbit looked to Bofur and he gave her a wide smirk, holding up his flute. Bellissima nodded gratefully, and grabbed a handful of her coat in her fist. She had actually never sang in front of the others. She was especially nervous about singing in front of Thorin; the King under the Mountain had an exceptionally great singing voice. But with another reassuring smile, Bofur raised his lips to his flute and nodded to her. The miner/toy maker Dwarf began to play a tune that sounded much like a party shanty of the Shire. It had taken her a long time to compose a tune melody both the joy of the Shire and the sorrow of Erebor. With a deep inhale, she began._

_"I've heard the tales of mighty gold,_

_And trekked through weather burning and cold._

_I've been over and under hills,_

_And known that I will follow you still._

_"But still no burning ruby bright,_

_Nor a glittering emerald strong and light,_

_Can tear apart my heart from you,_

_If you would say that you love me too."_

_Thorin smiled wider, opening his mouth to speak, but Bellissima just shook her head; she broke into the next verse._

_"My dearest love, my darling One,_

_You impress me with your tales of old._

_But I've no need for daring words_

_For only your love is what I yearn._

_"And even though you'd mine for me_

_Glittering jewels and rings of gold,_

_I've no use for this fickle things_

_If I am in your tender hold._

_"I'd travel to a mountain tall,_

_I'd even kill a dragon bold,_

_If I could all but hear your name_

_Echoed in your halls of old."_

_And then suddenly, a deep melodious voice joined in, interrupting her song. Bellissima looked up at Thorin, who was standing up now. He looked all the more regal as he stood straight and tall; unwavering, his eyes twinkling brightly and happily. The hobbit lass couldn't suppress the dark crimson blush flushing all over her cheeks._

_"I'd sing the ballads of your name,_

_I'd even sing you poetry_

_If I could all but hold you dear_

_And call you my kin for all my years."_

_Bellissima smiled and found herself singing along with Thorin— wondering how he made up those matching lyrics in the spur of the moment. Even though she did not know the lyrics that Thorin used, she still found matching words inside of her. Like heart song beating in tandem._

_"But still no burning ruby bright,_

_Nor glittering Arkenstone strong and light,_

_Can tear apart my heart from you,_

_If you would say you would marry me!"_

_Thorin's pupils were dilated, and she had never seen the Dwarf so happy before. Letting out a laugh, Bellissima raised her hands to quiet the cheering company for a second. They looked at her expectantly. She glanced a Thorin, her eyes wide and her heart beating furiously._

_"Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, and King under the Mountain, I have no need for rings of gold, or any other worldly possessions. As long as I am blessed to live my life beside you, I don't need anything."Bellissima said proudly, allowing her nervous Baggins nature to be absorbed by the sudden boldness, just for a second._

_Every single Dwarf of the company stood, clapping their hands and whooping like a bunch of drunkards. The Baggins side of her came back and she blushed furiously. Thorin stood up, outstretching his arms, a warm and inviting smile on his face._

_"Ghivashel."_

_The lass walked down the table and jumped. Thorin caught her easily and twirled her around before bringing her close. He nuzzled Bellissima's nose, genuine mirth radiating from his eyes —taking her in as his everything._

_"Ghivashel." He whispered cherishing her._

_Bellissima savored the feeling of his beard scratching up against the bare skin of her cheek._

_"Bellissima."_

_She hummed. "Hm?"_

_"Bellissima." Thorin looked at her urgently. "Do not leave me."_

_"I'm not going anywhere." She answered with a questioning look._

_"Do not leave me."_

_"Thorin—"_

_"Ghivashel."_

_Ghivashel._

_Ghivashel._

Bellissima's eyes tore open. She shot up out of bed, sweat drenching her forehead in giant beads. She groaned as pain branded her shoulder and shot down her back like lightning.

_"Do not leave me, ghivashel."_

"W-w-what?" She choked out.

Bellissima looked up only to be meet with the sapphire eyes of an elf.

"Ah, you are up _periannath._ " The she-elf greeted.

"I feel like I bloody got socked by a troll." She moaned trying to ease herself up slowly.

"Well, your shoulder was mauled by a warg." The elf chirped. "And you have been unconscious for a few hours as well. _Periannath,_ you should consider yourself lucky that you do not feel like death at the current time."

"My body feels as though it could be close to." Bellissima complained.

"Ah, lass, you're up!"

The hobbit turned around to see the white bearded Dwarf walk up to her, a relieved expression spread across his features. An auburn haired elf followed him, her features were grim set and weary.

"So, the _periannath_ awakens. I was afraid she would succumb to her fever." The auburn one said.

"She's too stubborn to fall to a fever, lass." Balin grinned, forgetting that he was speaking to an elf.

The auburn haired elf frowned.

"I am very much glad she did not." The sapphire eyed elf continued. "According to _naug,_ they have a very long journey, and it would be such a shame if they did not make it."

"I'm sorry, but what are your names?" Bellissima demanded, sounding very cross.

"Aha, look sister!" The sapphire eyed one laughed. "She bears a very cross face, much like that of the King under the Mountain."

The hobbit flushed. "I-I-I, what?"

"Were you not the Baggins that Thorin Oakenshield enlisted to help reclaim his home?" The elf asked. "Your _naug_ called you Miss Baggins and I remembered the name immediately from Lord Elrond's tales. Only one who travels with the King under the Mountain tries their hardest to give an _edhel_ such a vehement look."

"Have you met…Master Oakenshield?" Bellissima asked quietly, trying to rotate her shoulder.

"Do not do that." The auburn one stated calmly. "The flesh needs to mend."

"Good thing it's not my dominate hand." She murmured before looking at the two expectantly. "I've asked you two questions and you have failed to answer both. What are your names, and do you know Thorin Oakenshield?"

"Yes of course, sincerest of apologies, Miss Baggins." The sapphire one twittered. "I am Serafina of the Glades."

"I am Kiera of the Glades as well." The auburn haired one said with a bow.

"Bellissima Baggins, at your service." Bellissima tiredly stated, slowly inching herself back down onto the ground.

Serafina beamed.

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" The hobbit hissed to Balin.

The Dwarf shook his head. "I've already introduced myself, I won't be doing it a second time."

"We would expect nothing more of you, Master Dwarf." Kiera said in what may have been a snigger, but it was awfully hard to tell with her melodic voice.

"So, you go to Erebor. Why?" Serafina asked, sitting comfortably next to Bellissima.

The hobbit winced. "I go for my own reasons, thank you very much."

Balin muttered something in Khuzdul; probably something about nosey elves.

"Every person has a story to tell, Bellissima Baggins." Kiera stated as she sat down next to her sister. "We have the time for you must rest for at least a day, and we—my sister and I—have no more reason to hunt, for we have lost our trail with our occupation of you. So, I feel as though your story might be able to fend off our boredom for just a bit."

"And what makes you think that I will tell you my story."

"Because you are a hobbit." said Kiera.

"And hobbits love telling stories." finished Serafina.

"Well, this hobbit—for one is not overly fond of telling stories."

Balin snorted.

Bellissima shot him a withering look.

"Please, _periannath,_ it will do us all some good to unwind." Serafina asked politely, beginning to braid a section of her blond hair.

The hobbit lass sighed. "I…I suppose."

"Miss Bell, no." Balin groaned, lying down and covering his eyes. "We could all do with rest."

Bellissima only raised her hand. "You may as well get comfortable, because it is not a very short story…nor is it a pleasant one."

The elves nodded, although Kiera definitely look entirely uninterested. She played it up well for her sister, making it seem as though she was as eager to hear the Halfling's words. Bellissima sighed, and focused her 'story teller's' voice.

"So a tale we shall have." Bellissima began. "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort…"

† † †

Bellissima had finished her tale. She had made sure to leave out any parts concerning her and Thorin's relationship. Only giving the elves the impression that he and she had been good friends. It was satisfying to see that both of the elven kind seemed grim and teary eyed. It was good to know that everyone was in about as much misery as she was.

"Let me change your bandages." Kiera offered softly, her eyes pointed to the ground.

Bellissima nodded.

The elf reached over and with slender hands, began to clean the wound and change her bandages. Balin and Serafina sat quietly. The hobbit couldn't help but be grateful at the fact that Balin was once again his diplomatic self. He was being rude to these elves as he initially had been with Anthereon. Of course, she had been asleep for a few hours, who knows what sort of thing could have happened when she was unconscious.

"We will help." Serafina declared suddenly, her voice sure.

"Pardon?" Bellissima asked, a bit drowsy.

"We must return to Imladris soon, but we will help you reach the Misty Mountains. A Dwarf and a hobbit are easy prey on the road. You must see the King under the Mountain to prove to yourself he is not dead—and to prove that he can forgive you. We will aid you the best as we can to help you achieve this goal."

Balin looked thunderstruck.

Kiera simply looked annoyed.

"Thank you, truly." Bellissima slurred, the events of everything finally weighing down on her like a wall of bricks. "But…why would you do that for a stranger?"

"Your mother was an _elvellon_ so as are you." Serfina added seriously. "Should you ever need any elf's help, all you must do is ask."

Kiera looked at her sister and the sapphire eyed elf simply ignored her. She continued her focus on the hobbit. The Halfling could hardly keep her eyes open.

"Sleep, _periannath._ " Kiera commanded, pushing down on the hobbit's unwounded shoulder. "We will talk more of plans in the morn. Now you must rest."

Bellissima nodded, but as she slowly laid back down, she couldn't help but feel for the Ring. As she did, her vision blurred and her hearing hazed. She did not understand her position nor why she was in the forest. Groaning she closed her eyes, her fingers gently strong the gold Ring. Such a beautiful, beautiful golden Ring.

_"I have no need for such fickle things."_ Bellissima thought bitterly, but not removing her hand.

And with that, she gave in to sleep. Landing in the darkness like landing on a pillow of soft down. She welcomed the respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was inspired by this wonderful song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=QzxW85KCGQ8&list=PLt9UdEco3BWjJuEp5z_bdTaR6a_w8kjGa&index=2 . If you try really hard, you can even match my lyrics to the tune of the song.


	6. Five Hundred Miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a well love song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any mistakes of this un-Beta'd chapter.

Bellissima opened her eyes with no grogginess or pain. Groaning, and squinting in the morning light, she realized that the dawning sun had just barely climbed over the horizon, spilling pink and purple blood all over the land. Grinning she ran her left hand through her curls, lifting her face up to soak up the rays. The light danced on her face and tickled her skin with its warmth.

"Good morning, _periannath_."

Slowly, she turned her head to see Kiera standing before her. The elf's arms bore a large bundle of twigs and wood, but not a single piece of her clothes showed any sign of the majestic creature having scavenged for them. Kiera's green tunic was flat pressed, and without a single wrinkle. Her leggings looked fluffy and wooly, while her boots looked almost spotless save for a small speck of grime at the front of the toe. As for her hair, the elf's dark auburn locks swirled up above her neck in what seemed to be a bun with several complex braids twisting into the center.

Bellissima almost snorted. _Elves._

"Do you mean to say that it is a good morning, or a morning to be good on? Or perhaps that things are good this morning?"

Kiera gave her a small grin. "I see that you know Mithrandir well."

"A bit too well, after our journey." Bellissima grinned.

Kiera sat down, the wood still piled on her lap.

"What is the Great Wizard like?"

The hobbit choked on a laugh. "The Great Wizard? I do think you mean the Grey Wizard."

The elf frowned. "I meant what I said, _periannath._ Mithrandir is second to Saruman and that is the truth—his magic cannot be surpassed except for that of the White Wizard. You should know that you were fortunate to be a companion with such a great man."

"Gandalf…is he really that well known among the elves?"

"Very well indeed; lord Elrond often speaks of his great friend when telling his stories. The rest of us are so lucky to hear them. Once, after a hunt my sister and I were so privileged to hear the Grey Wizard himself. His voice merry and yet his words as heavy as thunder—so joyous and yet so burdened. A magnificent person indeed." Kiera murmured wistfully.

Bellissima hummed in agreement. "I suppose his stories are fine, but they're nothing like his whizzpoppers."

Kiera scrunched her nose up and looked at Bellissima with distaste.

"Whizzpoppers?"

"His fireworks." She laughed softly, wincing a bit as she moved her shoulder. The pain was coming back. "Gandalf makes excellent fireworks."

The elf cocked her slender brow.

"Oh well, let me tell you," the hobbit grinned. "When I was about yea high, not even to my calve—my grandfather, Gerontius Took, threw a great big party. It was quite the buzz in Hobbiton. Many of us hobbits gathered around to see the spectacular that the old Took was going to treat us with. Imagine our surprise when the lot of them saw the great big man standing there carrying crates of fireworks."

"Were you not surprised?" Kiera asked suspiciously.

Bellissima gave her a mischievous grin. "I was five. I attacked him with a wooden sword."

"Pardon?"

"I wacked his shins with a wooden sword." She grinned, reminiscing to that day. "In all truth, I had met Gandalf the year before. He knew my mother before she had married my father, and he had taken her on a few adventures. They had been good friends, Gandalf and my mother."

"Lord Elrond also speaks of your mother in a few of his stories." Kiera added offhandedly, watching the hobbit for a reaction.

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised." Bellissima chuckled a bit longingly, "my mother left many impressions on people."

Kiera allowed herself a soft laugh. "So why did you hit the Grey Wizard?"

"Because the last time he came, he told me he would play with me of course! I wanted to get a head start in our games."

"And did he humor you?"

"Of course he did!" Bellissima snickered. "Gandalf may be a wise old wizard, but he has a soft spot for children; especially hobbit fauntlings. After setting off the first of his whizzpoppers—which were truly magnificent, may I tell you; they lit the sky in beautiful hues of blue, green, and red—he chased me around the Party Tree with his staff. It was a great night, not a care in the world for a fauntling."

"It sounds as though you had a good childhood." Kiera frowned.

Bellissima focused on the elf to realize she had been whittling at the wood she had gathered. As the hobbit tilted her head, she saw that Kiera had made fast work of the wood to form arrows. The elf had made quite a few, in fact—it was just slightly impressive.

"Oh, I didn't have quiet an easy child hood, being a daughter of a Baggins and a Took." She uttered. "It wasn't a hard life, but it wasn't easy either. And then of course we did have our hardships. Most who know about hobbits like to think we live an easy life with few worries. In a sense it's true, but more than not there is something to worry about. And true there are always people who have it harder than us, but doesn't your own problems always seem like the world to you? Besides, we are a good folk. Even if we have our troubles, we're willing to help others with it."

"Is that why you did it?" Kiera wondered.

Bellissima frowned. "I don't understand."

"Is that why you helped Oakenshield with his quest to win back Erebor? You held no allegiance to the Dwarrow kind and yet…there you were, helping a people who were not your own."

"I should think you elves are like that."

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused." Bellissima grouched. "You elves are always helping the race of men, when you're not living in Imladris with your lavish homes and the like."

"Was that an insult?" Kiera bemused.

The hobbit shrugged. "Not intended as one, but I suppose it could be taken as such."

"That is an underhanded way of saying yes."

"I said it was neither. You're the one who decided it was an insult."

Kiera looked unamused.

"In all honesty, Kiera of the Glades—I have no idea why I helped Thorin." She shrugged. "I suppose I won't ever know. All I do know, is that after I heard his song; I _wanted_ to help. Before I heard his ballad of Erebor's fall, I was very reluctant to even have the Dwarves in my house; it wasn't proper. I also thought very much like you.

"They weren't hobbits, and they certainly weren't asking me to steal food or crops that had been stolen. They were asking me to help steal their home back. Quite frankly, I wanted nothing to do with that. A hobbit, let alone a Baggins, does not steal. But Thorin…he was something else.

"When he sung, it was as though I saw his soul that night. It was so sad, and so broken at its loss. Right then and there I wanted to rush to the sides of the Dwarves so that we might leave. But I didn't. I just…it was as if all that existed was a world of a burning fire, a stolen treasure, and crumbling mountain. I didn't see a rude leader, who had so uncouthly insulted me. I saw a great Dwarf prince, who was lost and forsaken among the dilapidated ruins of his family. Someone who wanted nothing more than to slay a dragon to avenge a father, a grandfather, and a people. It was then…

"It was then that I swore to myself, that I would help. I would help see that his soul might not be so shattered, not so adrift. Because underneath his brusque demeanor, I saw a Dwarf that would become a great king and beautiful person. I wanted all of that for him." She chuckled and shook her head. "And he wasn't even a hobbit."

Kiera paused from her wood work. "That is…much for just a friendship."

"Pardon me?" Bellissima choked.

"Your voice, it took on a yearning that told me, your relationship with the King under the Mountian was more than simply a friend."

"That's all it is." Bellissima whispered, trying not to think of anything else. It was far too early in the morning to be depressed.

"But was it once something more?" Kiera asked eagerly.

"And if it was?"

"I applaud you."

The hobbit blinked, a little bit thunderstruck.

"I have heard that the King under the Mountain has a heart just as hard as the stone walls in which his home is made of. It must have been incredibly hard for you to win his heart." Kiera explained.

Bellissima snorted, a mirthless laugh coming from her chest. "I suppose you could say I burgled it."

"I have to admit, you stole the Arkenstone for good reason, _periannath._ You did what you thought was right; Oakenshield was blind to what you were trying to do."

"Yes. Yes he was."

"Do you regret it? Stealing the Arkenstone?"

Bellissima hummed. "That's a bit of a private question."

"I did not say you had to answer me."

"You two are up early."

Bellissima and Kiera looked up to see Serafina walking towards them. The blonde elf carried a row of rabbits over her shoulder. The little creatures had not a single blood spot on them, nor did that seem in any sort of pain. The sapphire eyed elf gave her sister and the hobbit a grand smile.

"How is your shoulder, _periannath?_ "

"It hardly hurts, although it's really stiff." Bellissima answered truthfully.

"That is good." Serafina chirped. "My healing did you some benefit then."

"You healed my shoulder?"

"It was not my sister." The elf giggled.

Kiera rolled her eyes, picking up the last bit of wood.

"You already lost your arrows, _muinthel_?" the other mused.

"Oh hush, _you_ lost them."

"You lot are louder than Dwalin when he wakes up in the morning, and that's saying something." Balin griped, stretching out of his bed roll.

Bellissima rocked back and forth from her seated position. "Morning Balin."

"Good Morning, Miss Baggins." He yawned, stretching his arms over his head, his scarlet coat rustling loudly.

Kiera cocked one of her eyebrows in amusement and Bellissima poorly stifled a giggle. She and the elf had a conversation just a little while on the 'good morning' phrase. The conversation was still fresh in their minds.

"So, how far do you wish to go?" Serafina questioned, walking over to the two ponies and patting them both on the snout.

"I would go five hundred miles to make this journey quicker." The hobbit groaned, rubbing her eyes.

Kiera snorted—albeit gracefully.

"I doubt you, _naug,_ or the ponies could go that far." The blonde laughed.

"Oi," Balin groaned.

Bellissima shrugged. "As far as we can make it."

"No doubt you will wish to bypass the Valley of Imladris." Kiera stated calmly, standing up.

"Correct." Balin nodded.

Bellissima pursed her lips. Seeing the elves would be a nice treat...

 _No._ She scolded herself for wanting the delay. _You are here for one reason and one reason only. Oh, the ridiculous things one does for love…does that even make sense?_

"So, it seems as though there is a full day of riding ahead." Serafina chirped, beginning to tack the ponies. Her hands move nimbly around each strap, making sure the saddles were in place. She jostled the leather, or fiddled with the stirrups; clearly unsatisfied.

"Where on earth did you get this tack?" She demanded, a bit outraged. "It's positively atrocious. The leather is old, and the straps are hardly holding."

"It came from the town of Udhor." Balin informed grumpily.

"Oh well that explains it." Serafina sighed with a debonair expression. "Men can barely make materials that are suitable or well-made."

"That is rude Serafina." Kiera rebuked.

"I said barely." The other groused. "It does leave room for amendments."

The auburn haired elf groaned.

"So," Bellissima piped up, clapping her hands together. "What are we doing for breakfast?"

Ah, a hobbit's love for food—ever to save the day.

"Rabbit." Serafina grinned, picking up her string of rabbits. "And lettuce."

"That seems like some sort of cruel irony." Balin grimaced.

Kiera smirked.

"It is." The blonde chirped.

Bellissima barked out a laugh.

Balin gathered up a bit of wood, and Kiera added the pieces that she had no intention of working with. Soon they had the smallest of fires going. By then, Serafina had the rabbits skinned and slice; she hung the meats over the small makeshift spit that Bellissima had added to the fire. Giving the fire a few helpful puffs of air from her mouth, she stepped back and looked at it.

"Now comes waiting." Bellissima sighed.

"Think of it this way." Kiera said. "After this, we will not have to wait like this for a few days. There will be plenty of meat and greens to spare for breakfast."

"Hardly breakfast food." Balin muttered.

"Oh I am sorry _naug,_ perhaps you could do better?" The auburn proffered irritated.

Serafina pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "Oh please, do not fight."

"You will snuff out our small, pathetic fire." Bellissima snapped.

Kiera glared. Balin seethed. Serafina banged her head against a nearby tree in frustration.

"Bebother you elves and Dwarves!" The hobbit exclaimed standing up and beginning to walk away.

"Miss Baggins, where are you going?" Balin called out after her.

She smiled, thankful that they couldn't see it. Bellissima couldn't help but think of Gandalf. Oh the irony in situations sometimes.

"To look ahead."

With that she stalked off into the trees, her hand alighting on Sting's handle immediately. She was more than thankful for her sword's presence; letter opener or not.

"Was it wise to let her go by herself?" Kiera pondered quietly.

"Probably not." drawled Serafina.

"Dear Durin." Balin groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. It was simply _too_ early for this.

Kiera turned back to Balin. "So, setting aside all differences for at least the time being, what is the King under the Mountain's ailment?"

"Amnesia." Balin sighed, looking at the elf miserably. "And probably the worst case to have."

"Has he forgotten everything?" Serafina asked, alarmed.

"Nay, he would not be king if so. But he remembers little to none of the expedition." The Dwarf answered begrudgingly. "And that is not good, if he wishes to have a solid hold on his crown."

"That is unfortunate." Kiera offered, her tone vaguely sympathetic.

"For Miss Baggins, it is." Balin snapped.

"Does he not remember their relationship?" The auburn hair elf wondered.

Serafina looked at them with alarm. "Relationship? Outside of friendship? Hold on a second…when did we establish this conclusion?"

Kiera ignored her.

"Thorin Oakenshield does not remember _her._ " Balin emphasized. "At all."

Serafina took a sharp intake of air.

"Nothing?" Kiera asked lifting a brow.

Balin nodded.

The auburn haired elf leaned back from where she was sitting and looked up through the canopy of tree leaves. The morning sky winked, flirting its bright baby blue flesh between the green foliage. She closed her eyes.

"Then truly it is unfortunate. The King under the Mountain is missing out on a great treasure."

Balin frowned. "I know."

By the time Bellissima returned, she was in much happier, and for Balin that was a scary thing. If the hobbit lass was chipper, something happened on her walk. He shivered.

"So, how are you now _periannath_?" Serafina questioned with amusement twinkling in her eyes.

Balin shot her a glance that said, 'please for the love of Durin, don't push your luck'.

"Oh it was lovely, had a lot of time to think to myself." Bellissima answered with a kind smile.

"Och, we're in trouble." Balin muttered.

"I heard that!" The hobbit gasped dramatically. "Honestly Balin, one would think you don't like that I have time to think to myself."

"It's that you set aside time for such things that, worries me lassie. You think too much."

"Oh here we go."

"Honestly, both of you behave. And Bellissima, eat please? I wish to start our travels as soon as possible." Kiera retorted, gathering up her arrows and sticking them into her quiver.

Serafina groaned. "But it was so amusing."

Kiera stood up stiffly, tossing the hobbit a bit of rabbit meat before walking to the ponies. Balin shrugged before walking to his bedroll, scrolling it up and tucking it safely into his pack. Bellissima sighed and began to eat at the though jerky of rabbit.

"With the amount of grouchiness, one would think my sister was human." Serafina chuckled.

"And is she?" Bellissima asked curiously, swallowing a bit of meat. "Is she human?"

Serafina shook her head before handing the hobbit her wine skin. "No, but the both of us have spent far too much time with the race of men than with our kin."

"Why?"

The elf shrugged. "Imladris got a bit…dull? One could wonder how we would ever tire of the beautiful city but, there is something about traversing the wilderness that beckons us. As if the _elleth_ kind were never meant to stay so still in one spot for too long. Others have felt this calling, but few have acted upon it. Kiera and I, we just got up and left. We spent years simply wandering, enjoying the time in the woods and loving every bit of nature. It was not until we met a Ranger that we knew our calling was to be hunters."

"But…do elves eat meat?" Bellissima wondered.

Serafina beamed. "On the occasion, but rarely."

"Then why?"

"Elves do not eat meat mainly for the sake that they feel they have no right to take a creatures life. That it is, wanton. Kiera and I have learned differently in the ways of men. If the animal is used well, and is used wholly—then there is no waste. It feeds, clothes, and keeps healthy, giving its life for others. There is no greater sacrifice for the creature."

"Almost poetic." The tawny haired hobbit laughed, her braid bouncing on her shoulder.

Serafina's eyes widened, her suspicions from the earlier conversation almost confirmed. "That is a braid of the Dwarrow."

Bellissima pursed her lips. "I…yes, yes it is."

The blonde elf stepped closer and touched the braid tentatively. Bellissima flinched but allowed her to do so. Serafina fingered the beads in her plait carefully, almost reverently.

"These runes, they are in Khuzdul. What do they mean?"

"I don't know." The hobbit lied.

Serafina squinted at her. "Who gave these to you, then? The Dwarrow are overly protective of such signs of friendship and their precious language."

"One of the company." It wasn't lying, it just wasn't detailed.

Serafina remained quiet for a second before whispering softly, "Oakenshield?"

 _Confound these elves and their perceptiveness!_ Bellissima hung her head. Was she really that readable? Like an open book?

Serafina offered her a comforting hand to the cheek. "There is nothing to be ashamed of. Now I can see why you are so eager to reach the mountain and its king."

The hobbit did not answer.

So instead, the blonde reached out and grabbed Bellissima's hand.

"Come, you must pack your things. I want to set out right away, we have a bit of riding to do."

"We?"

"You did not expect my sister and I to walk the whole way, did you?" Serafina laughed.

Bellissima grimaced. "Well, are we all going to fit on the two ponies?"

"I have no idea." Serafina bemused. "But, there is no possible way on the Valar that I am walking the whole way."

"Fair enough."

† † †

The day carried on quickly for Bellissima. While Balin rode with Serafina, she had to ride with Kiera. The auburn and obviously more serious elf, had left little room for small talk in her brooding. This had given the hobbit plenty of time to think. She couldn't help but think of her cozy smial back in Hobbiton. She wondered if Lobelia had given Hamfast a hard time, or if the witch had snuck in and stole her mother's West Farthing china again. She thought of her beautiful tomato plants, zucchini, carrots, sweat peas, and pumpkins, wondering if Hamfast was able to take care of everything on his own. He was a great gardener but they had always worked together to keep the plants in tip-top condition.

And she thought of Anthereon.

She didn't know why she constantly thought of the elf but she did. Thinking about him, happy with his family, gave her some sort of hope. Anthereon had been a soldier, an elf no less, and had found his love. A human girl with no promise of glory, or an elven life; just a simple girl who offered her heart to the right person at the right time. Bellissima had no idea how Merlee had won the mysterious and deserter soldier of Greenwood over, but she had. And, as silly as it sounded, it gave her the possibility that she could have a chance to win Thorin's heart over again.

Just maybe, just maybe, the beads in her hair would be re-braided.

Spirits a little higher, her heart alight with hope, she began to sing under her breath. Quiet enough that no one could hear, but her. The wind seemed to carry her voice forward throughout the woods, echoing to the trees that they were coming. Well her and the trees, but she didn't mind—the trees were bound to hear her song anyway. The trees have ears.

" _I would walk five hundred miles,_

_And I would walk five hundred more_

_Just so that I could end up at the mountain door._

_With little money, with little hopes to come true_

_I pray it's enough to come home to you._

  
" _The day goes by, I've no coin for my efforts_

_Just the phrase that I'd be there for you._

_I've no quarrels, no regrets to set aside_

_I only want to be here to smile brightly at you._

  
" _Because I would walk five hundred miles,_

_And I would walk five hundred more_

_Just so that I could end up at the mountain door._

_With little money, with little hopes to come true_

_I pray it's enough to come home to you._

  
" _I have my feet, I have my heart,_

_A thousand miles, are nothing if it's worth you._

_I'd gladly walk them twice over again_

_If it meant to get to be with you._

_I'd walk the earth forever an endless day_

_Just to say that I see you._

  
" _Because I would walk five hundred miles,_

_And I would walk five hundred more_

_Just so that I could end up at the mountain door._

_With little money, with little hopes to come true_

_I pray it's enough to come home to you._

  
" _And if I grow lonely, on the never ending road_

_Then at least I could say, I never forebode_

_The empty feeling inside my heart_

_that I never got to see you._

_Because even in this old age I know,_

_I am coming home to you._

  
" _By the Valar, I am coming home to you._

  
" _And I would walk five hundred miles,_

_And I would forever walk five hundred more_

_Just so that I could end up at your mountain door._

_With little money, with little hopes that shan't come true,_

_I wish it were enough for you to know,_

_That I am coming home to you."_

  
She smiled just a bit as the wind rumbled by, caressing her in a gentle and harsh way. With another deep breath she began to sing again. Where the lyrics came from, or why she was inspired to sing a silly little ditty, she didn't know. But all she knew, was that her heart was full for the first time that year. It was full of wishful thinking

 _I'm coming._ Bellissima gladly thought.

† † †

Far away, in a mountain that had once been in keep by a dragon, slept a king. He had become a great king over the two years; well-loved and respected by most of his people. But just because he was in high regards with his people, did not mean he had the easy life of a blacksmith. That day, for example, he had been run tired and worn from a day of service and of meetings. So he really could not be blamed if he fell asleep at his desk while he had been going over a few contract from the other Dwarrow clans. So there, on an oaken work desk, sleep an exhausted raven-haired Dwarf. And what normally would've been a quick nap, was a deep sleep.

A beautifully peaceful sleep that was riddled with a song.

The song bursting forth from the wind with a mournful voice that was so foreign and yet so painfully familiar.

" _By the Valar, I am coming home to you._

  
" _And I would walk five hundred miles,_

_And I would forever walk five hundred more_

_Just so that I could end up at your mountain door._

_With little money, with little hopes that shan't come true,_

_I wish it were enough for you to know—_

  
" _That I am coming home to you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See if you recognize the main part of the verse. The other part of the song, I made up. So can you tell me the band and the name of the song? It's a good one. I just used the main part of the song, the other parts of it I made up.


End file.
